


memorial

by envysparkler



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Brother Acquisition, Enemy to Caretaker, Exhaustion, Gen, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Titans Tower au, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27434179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: Jason Todd doesn’t have a memorial in the Hall of Heroes.  That doesn’t mean he’s forgotten.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 87
Kudos: 903
Collections: Red Hood vs Red Robin





	memorial

**Author's Note:**

> At this point, a full 33% of all my batfam fanfics include a Jason & Tim alternate first meeting. I am carving out a niche here.
> 
> Also, this will be the last fic uploaded for a little bit because I really need to focus on my thesis, defense, and a bunch of RL work that has piled up.
> 
> (Reminder that the author has never touched a DC comic in her life and also has no plans to.)

Tim’s head felt sore and achy, pressure radiating out in a slowly growing headache as he walked through the halls. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he should’ve been at home – no, not _home_ , because that house wasn’t his home anymore, because his parents were never coming back.

Tim choked down the sound that caught in his throat. He couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t afford to think about it. He would break down later, in his room – not his room, _not anymore_ – but he couldn’t do it here. And he couldn’t do it in the Manor, couldn’t face Alfred’s soft, knowing eyes and Bruce’s awkward tension, and it had all become too much and Tim had fled to the Tower.

Tim had been walking aimlessly, but he wasn’t surprised when he ended up in the Hall of Heroes. The memorials to everyone they’d lost in this crusade, every brave hero that had died far too soon, every Titan that had given their lives to protect the world.

His parents would never be up here. They were collateral damage in the grand scheme of things, the people who hadn’t been saved rather than the people doing the saving. Tim hadn’t gotten to them in time, and they’d died, and no one would care. It was just another senseless tragedy to them.

He was supposed to be Robin. He was supposed to be _better_. And he failed the people that should’ve mattered most and he couldn’t even _cry_ and he hated being inside the Manor, hated that he’d gotten one of his deepest desires through the murder of his parents and that maybe if he’d never wished for Bruce to be his father, his parents would still be alive.

His stuttering steps echoed loudly in the hall. He could almost feel the heroes surrounding him, feel their sharp, heavy gazes on his back, feel their silent judgement as he walked through the hall like he had any right to be there.

_Fraud_ , he could imagine them sneering, _that cape’s not yours_. And they were right. Jason wouldn’t have failed to save his parents. Jason would’ve gotten there fast enough. Jason died a hero, and Tim survived a failure.

He stumbled past all of them, heading for the front of the hall and the alcoves half-hidden behind the staircase. Jason didn’t have a memorial here – he had been the first child vigilante to die, and they hadn’t created the Hall of Heroes until it was clear that he wasn’t going to be the last. And by that time, Tim was already Robin, and no one wanted to ask Nightwing or Batman to give up Jason’s old suit to place it in a memorial, and everyone just kept putting it off.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t remembered.

The silent weight of a stare on his back increased in intensity as Tim stepped past the staircase and towards the center alcove. The walls curved inward and light didn’t reach the small nook, so the only way to see what was inside was to actually step in. Tim knelt down in the middle of the small hidey-hole, and felt the pressure building up behind his eyes.

The first few pictures had been Tim’s. He had taken so _many_ when Jason had been Robin, and he’d obsessively gone over all of them to find the best ones – Jason, grappling through the air, the shot taken at an angle that concealed the grapple line in the night sky so that it looked like Robin was flying.

Batman and Robin, clinging to a rooftop like silent statues as they looked down – Batman was a still, blank shadow, but Robin was _grinning_ , bright and fierce. Jason, mid-fight, a snarl on his face as he broke a mugger’s nose. And Robin sitting on the edge of a rooftop, legs dangling, staring out over Gotham in a rare moment of stillness.

At first, those had been the only four photos, arranged carefully in iron frames with twisted spirals of birds. Then someone had haphazardly taped a group photo of an older Teen Titans, with Jason laughing in one of the armchairs. A printout of a slightly blurry picture of Jason and Dick, the older boy ruffling Jason’s hair as the younger one scowled, neither of them looking at the camera. A picture of the kitchen, with Jason standing near the oven with a smudge of flour on his cheek and a suspicious expression.

A domino mask that wasn’t Tim’s. Random pieces of old Wonder Woman merch. A carefully, beautifully illustrated sketch of a robin mid-flight. A worn copy of a book. It made Tim’s breath catch in his throat, his chest squeezing painfully.

All of them reminders that Jason had died too young. That he had been a _child_. Four more months, and Tim was going to be older than Jason had ever gotten the chance to be.

There were three candles in front of their little collection, one added on every anniversary of Jason’s death, and Tim fumbled for the matchbox. His hands were shaking, and it took him two tries before he could pry open the box and pick up a match.

His spine was prickling, a weighted presence behind him, a hushed stillness in the air. Tim took a deep breath and scraped the matchstick against the side of the box. And again. And _again_ – and cursed as the stick snapped into two under the force.

He choked down the sob and picked up another. He couldn’t even light a single matchstick, that was how useless he was. He took a deep breath, loosened his grip on the matchstick, and struck it again.

This time, it flared into light, the hiss accompanied by a harsh rasp, like someone had just inhaled sharply. Tim cupped the little spark as he used it to light each of the candles.

Three flames danced merrily, illuminating the small stash of tokens, glinting off of Jason’s bright smile and flickering in the hollows of the mask. Robin was magic, and here, Tim could almost believe it.

But Robin wasn’t just magic. Robin was a _curse_. It had taken his parents away from him and given him the one thing he’d always wanted, he was trapped in a house that was full of ghosts because Bruce felt _obligated_ to take custody of him, and Tim could never replace Jason and he saw that in Bruce’s face every time he turned to Robin and saw Tim instead.

His parents were dead. They weren’t coming back. They’d always come back, even when Tim was convinced they wouldn’t, convinced they’d abandoned him, convinced he was all alone – they’d come back. But this time – _his fault_ – they wouldn’t. Because Tim wasn’t there the one time his parents needed him.

“Could you,” Tim asked softly, an echo of the promise he’d made to Jason three years ago, “Could you watch over them for me?” It was a fair trade, Tim was watching over Bruce. “Please?”

Robin almost seemed to smile.

“No can do.”

Tim sucked in a sharp breath, nearly unbalancing into the candles as he twisted – he’d felt the prickling itch of someone watching him, but he _always_ felt that in the hall, the weight of all the ghosts who’d come before him –

The man standing in front of him, blocking the entrance and trapping Tim inside the alcove, was very real.

He was wearing body armor and a leather jacket, gun holsters strapped to his side and a red helmet in one gloved hand. There was a streak of white shooting through his hair – and then Tim abruptly didn’t have the air to breathe because he _recognized_ that face, even with a mask on, _especially_ with a mask on, he didn’t know what was happening but the man in front of him and the boy in the pictures were one and the same.

Tim tried for another breath, but the world was spinning and the candlelight was fracturing and dark spots grew against his vision as his limbs abruptly became weightless. The last thing he heard was a muttered curse before everything went black.

* * *

Tim choked, consciousness slamming back into him with the acrid, bitter, pungent smell of ammonia. He coughed and twisted, trying to get away from the smell – and froze when blurry eyes registered the body armor and red helmet.

“Awake now?” the man asked, tucking away the smelling salts.

“What –” Tim’s mind was running a mile a minute, and there were too many things to process – “What happened?”

“You fainted,” the man said dryly, rocking back onto his heels so that he was no longer looming over Tim. The moonlight glinted off the shock of white in his dark hair.

Tim stared. Dream – nightmare – he was surrounded by dead heroes, when had they started _coming back to life_ –

His parents were dead. His parents were dead and he was in Titans Tower and an older version of the boy Tim had always idolized was standing in front of him.

“Jason?” Tim whispered, his fingers trembling because there was too much to unpack here – there was a stranger in Titans Tower – the Manor was his home now, his parents were dead – Jason was supposed to be dead, how the _hell_ –

The man flinched, which was really all the answer Tim needed.

Tim felt his mind stuttering, caught in shock, but the Robin conditioning kicked in, shoving Tim’s emotions aside in favor of logic.

Fact: someone had broken into Titans Tower without setting off a single alarm.

Fact: they bore a striking resemblance to Jason Todd, if Jason Todd hadn’t died three years ago, thereby negating any chance to shoot up a foot and gain fifty pounds of muscle.

Fact: they were wearing heavy-duty body armor, a plain red domino mask, and they had three visible gun holsters, two obvious knife sheaths, and a gleaming red helmet that leaned more towards supervillain than motorcycle enthusiast.

Fact: Tim had a splitting headache, was dressed in workout clothes, and didn’t have a single weapon on him.

Tim hastily calculated the odds of the stranger being a friendly, and his mind offered up a _big fat no_.

There was really only one course of action left.

Tim twisted to his feet, and _ran_.

There was a startled shout behind him, but Tim didn’t pause, heading straight for the stairs – the fire alarm, if that hadn’t been disabled too, or straight up to the higher floors and his teammates’ bedrooms – he needed to find himself a weapon – he had to _get away_ because there were only a few reasons why anyone would feel like impersonating a long-dead Robin, and none of them were good.

He half expected a bullet in the back as he tripped headfirst onto the stairs, scrambling upright and dashing forward, but there was no _bang_ of a gunshot or the whistle of a blade or any sort of villainous monologue and that only made Tim run _faster_ because the ones that kept silent were the most dangerous of them all and –

His foot slipped on the next step, his ankle twisting for a half-second before crumpling beneath him. Tim managed to stifle the sudden scream as pain bloomed in his foot, but his balance was a lost cause – Tim could only raise his arms to protect his head as he tipped back down the stairs.

He hit the steps with a jarring crash, the edges digging painfully into his back, his arms, his knees – Tim sucked in a sharp breath as his twisted ankle slammed into a step, fire searing through his leg – and he rolled to a painful stop at the bottom of the stairs.

“Not really sure what you were trying to accomplish there, kid.”

Tim suppressed the shriek and tried to lever himself up, his arms trembling and his ankle throbbing painfully, but the world was still spinning around him and the only fixed point was the man crouching over him, dark hair falling into the whiteout lenses of his mask.

Terror caught in his throat, choking him – Tim had faced bigger opponents, stronger opponents, scarier opponents, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer horror of being caught unaware in a place that was supposed to be safe and secure, attacked by a man he hadn’t even seen coming, weaponless and alone and emotionally raw, his heart still an open wound.

There was no air in the room. Tim sucked in one shuddering inhale after another, but there was no oxygen getting to his lungs and he didn’t have his rebreather and – and –

And the man was suddenly right above him, his face inches from Tim’s, a heavy hand bearing down on Tim’s sternum as another grabbed his wrist. “Breathe, kid. You’re hyperventilating.” Tim’s fingers were forced to splay against armor as it rose and fell, but all Tim could think about was the military-grade weave under his fingers.

Oh God. He was going to die here. He was going to die without even putting up a fight, and the man would attack his teammates – his _friends_ – and it didn’t matter that he’d been too late to save his parents, he would’ve choked up just like this if he’d gotten there, he would’ve shuddered, frozen to the spot, wheezing helplessly, and he would’ve _watched them die_ and known that he was worthless.

“ _Breathe_ ,” the masked man snarled and Tim _tried_ , he was gasping for breath but there wasn’t enough air – his head was pounding like he’d slammed it against the floor – the pressure behind his eyes was too much and between one blink and the next, the room was blurry, wetness dripping down his cheeks.

“Come on, kid, slowly. Inhale when I do, hold it for three seconds, and exhale.” The armor moved with exaggerated breaths and Tim did his best to focus on it, his breath hitching, and the exhale was more a sob, but the sick churning in his stomach slowly began to dissipate. He sucked in another breath, holding it, before letting it out again. And another – his vision was entirely blurry now, his breathing cracking with every hitched sob, but the vice around his chest slowly began to slacken.

The hand gripping his wrist loosened, and let Tim yank it back towards his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, fresh tears escaping to drip down his face, and curled up as much as he dared.

“You don’t need to act like I’m going to _eat_ you, Replacement.”

There was a heavy edge of bitterness and rage there – the word _replacement_ nearly sliced Tim to the bone, cracking him open and exposing his heart.

“You – you broke in,” Tim stuttered, trying to inch away from the man as subtly as possible. His ankle shrieked every time he jostled it, but if he got far enough away, if he started screaming –

“No, I walked in. Turns out none of you bothered to disable my passcodes.”

“You can’t be Jason,” Tim whispered, because it didn’t make any _sense_. “You – you’re _dead_. They buried you.”

“I _was_ dead. Now I’m not. It was a nice coffin though. Probably would’ve enjoyed it more if I hadn’t woken up in it.”

That jolted Tim enough to let him scramble upright – he tested his ankle, hissed, and stayed on the ground, backing up until the edge of the stairs bit into his back. He hastily scrubbed his face with one hand, and observed the intruder with slightly clearer eyes.

The man had removed the domino mask to reveal eyes that were unnaturally green. Jason Todd’s eyes were blue, Tim knew that, but something about the vivid, intense shade niggled at him.

Jason’s face split into a smirk. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, low and nonchalant.

“You’re dead,” Tim said, still stuck on the point.

“If you say so,” Jason shrugged.

“You’re _dead_ ,” Tim repeated, as though that would change the image in front of him.

“You can keep saying that, Replacement, but it’s not going to make me go away,” Jason said, the edge of a sneer to his tone, green eyes flaring suddenly. Tim bit down on a yelp and tried to scramble back – he reflexively tried to push onto his feet and his ankle fiercely registered its displeasure as he ungainly fell back on his ass.

Jason sighed. “You have any idea how many plans you just ruined?” he asked, his voice flat.

“What plans?” Tim asked immediately, trying to ease back another step – his ankle gave an unpleasant throb and he nearly bit through his lip in his effort to suppress a groan, his eyes beginning to water again.

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Jason said grumpily, “Come on.” He reached forward and Tim jerked back with a surprised squeak, boxed in by the stairs and unable to stop Jason from scooping him up.

Tim took advantage of the proximity and snaked an arm around Jason’s neck, completing the chokehold and hesitating before he tightened his grip. Jason stared back at him, looking distinctly unimpressed, “If I wanted you dead, kid, _you’d be dead_.”

“You could be kidnapping me,” Tim pointed out, his voice wavering. Jason rolled his eyes and seemed to decide that Tim wasn’t going to attack him because he merely hefted Tim in his arms before taking the stairs.

Tim should constrict his grip, choke Jason – the _imposter_ – until he let go and fell unconscious, he should attack Jason – _Robin_ – and escape, hobble away on his twisted ankle and raise the alarm and –

“You’re dead,” Tim whispered, his voice trembling. Something was aching in his heart, a wound that had never fully closed, jarred by his parents’ deaths and now ripped open to bleed freely. He had to be hallucinating. A strange dream. A nightmare. He was going to wake up in his bed and everything would be fine – his parents would still be dead – and he’d be greeted by Bruce’s awkward look and Alfred’s breakfast and – and –

Tim choked on a sob and twisted, loosening his grip enough to bury his head into the armor and let himself shake with silent tremors. Jason didn’t say a word, even as Tim soaked his jacket with tears, silently carrying Tim through the halls of the Tower. Tim registered the medbay doors sliding open, and unlocked his arms when he was deposited on a bed, tugging his knees up and buried his head in them.

He had tried so hard to not have a breakdown, but the tears wouldn’t stop coming and his chest tightened painfully every time he tried to suppress the sobs.

His parents were dead. His mother was never going to adjust his tie as she taught him the different ways to smile, his father was never going to flip through Tim’s photos and let him ramble about the ideal dark room setups, he was never going to sit squeezed between them as they narrated the story of their latest trip.

He was never going to see them smile. Never hear their voices. Never feel the warmth of their arms.

And _Jason_ was – was –

“It’s a good thing I decided to bring this,” came the soft murmur, and before Tim could raise his head, there was a sudden prick in the side of his neck.

The room wavered and dissolved and Tim let himself sink into the darkness without a fight.

* * *

Tim woke up with the chill certainty that something was wrong. Confusion persisted – Conner was at his bedside, no, he was in the medbay, his right ankle was wrapped and there was an ice pack sitting on it – before the pieces of last night slammed into his head.

“Hey, Tim, you were out for a while,” Conner said, straightening, and Bart poked his head into the room. “What happened? You didn’t tell anyone you were coming to the Tower, and I thought Batman would’ve benched you for that twisted ankle.”

Tim ignored them, scanning the room – there was a glass of water on the bedside table, the water distorting what looked like black ink on white paper, and Tim tugged the note out from under the glass.

It said _Replacement_.

“What’s that?”

Tim unfurled the note, his heart hammering in his throat, and felt dread pool into his stomach.

_‘Sorry for drugging you. I couldn’t let you run off to Batman. Not yet.’_

“Someone _drugged_ you?” Bart almost squawked, reading over his shoulder. Tim’s mind was already whirring ahead –

_“You have any idea how many plans you just ruined?”_

He froze.

“Tim?”

“How long was I out?” he asked, his mouth dry.

“Uh…depends on when you came in, it’s almost ten P.M –” He’d lost an entire _day_ , this was bad, this was really bad – “Did someone attack you?”

“I told you that the security cameras were acting weird,” Bart said, fluttering around the room, “I’m going to go check if everyone’s okay!”

“Jason,” Tim forced out, his throat closing up, “Jason Todd. He was here.”

Conner was staring at him like he’d lost his mind. “Jason’s dead,” he said carefully.

“I know, but he was _here_ ,” Tim snarled, pushing himself out of bed. He ignored the twinging pain in his ankle as he hobbled out of the medbay, limping back to the Hall of Heroes. Bart caught up to them before they were halfway there, looking anxious.

“Check the whole building,” Tim ordered, and Bart and Conner exchanged an uncertain glance, “Let me know if anything looks out of place.” Bart shrugged and disappeared again.

By the time they made it down the stairs, his ankle was doing a lot more than twinging. Conner looked extremely concerned as Tim hop-stepped toward the center alcove, and he sucked in a harsh breath after he followed Tim in.

The candles were still burning. The pictures were gone, all of them, but the frames had been left behind. The Wonder Woman merch was still there, but the book was missing. The robin drawing had been moved and Tim reached out a shaking hand to pick it up.

There was a message scrawled on the back, in the same handwriting as the note on his bedside.

_‘Incredible talent. I’m honored. – J.’_

“Jason Todd is dead,” Conner said, but he sounded much less sure this time.

That unnatural shade of green – “Not if he was exposed to a Lazarus Pit,” Tim said softly.

Bart burst into the alcove. “The building’s clear,” he said, tripping over his words, before he caught sight of the space, “Who did this?”

“Jason,” Tim said, trembling.

Bart stared at him, wide-eyed, and turned his gaze to Conner, who shrugged, still pale.

“Tim,” Bart said, in what was a slow voice for him, “Are you okay?”

Was he _okay_? His parents were dead, he’d been placed in Bruce Wayne’s custody, and his predecessor was apparently alive. Tim and okay were not even in the same country right now.

“I need to get to Gotham,” he said instead.

* * *

Batman was gone by the time he got to the Cave – the Batmobile was missing and the Cave was mostly dark. No Agent A in sight. Tim hobbled forward to the Batcomputer, turned on the remaining lights, and froze.

The Batcomputer – and their communications array – had been smashed. The glass case that held Jason’s old uniform was in pieces, and the uniform itself looked charred. Tim scrambled into his Robin suit and pressed his comm to his ear – nothing but static. The trackers were still working though, and Tim could bring up the grid on his phone – Batman’s blinking dot was in Crime Alley.

Tim hissed and hobbled towards his bike, using his phone to call Dick as he levered it upright. He would just have to keep his weight off his right ankle as much as possible.

Dick picked up when Tim was on the bridge leading out of Bristol, his voice nearly drowned out by the wind. “Tim?” he greeted hesitantly, “What’s up?”

“Jason’s alive.”

Dick didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Tim,” he said finally, “How are you feeling?”

“Look, I know how it sounds,” Tim said, forcing the bike to go even faster. It would take him twenty minutes to get to Crime Alley, “But I was at Titans Tower and we had an intruder that bypassed all our security, attacked no one, and damaged nothing aside from Jason’s memorial. He called me ‘replacement’. He looked like Jason, except taller and older and his eyes were Lazarus-green. And I just got back to the Cave and Jason’s case is smashed and so is the Batcomputer. The comm lines are down, and Batman’s in Crime Alley.”

Dick was silent for a long moment.

“Dick,” Tim said, his voice cracking, “I _saw_ him. And I don’t know what he’s planning to do, but he didn’t want me to find Batman, and I really think he’s in trouble.”

Dick continued to not say a word. If Dick didn’t believe him – if Nightwing didn’t come, Tim didn’t know what he could do to stop Jason. The brief flashes of anger, the bitterness in his tone – the red helmet, startlingly similar to what the Joker used to wear, before he was the Joker.

“Bruce told me he was dead,” Dick said flatly, rage swelling underneath his words, and Tim could hear a motorcycle start in the distance. “It’s going to take me at least forty minutes to get there,” Dick warned.

“Dick,” Tim said, his mouth dry, “I think Jason’s the Red Hood.”

A long pause before a heartfelt swear made it down the line. “I’ll try to make it in thirty,” Dick said, the motorcycle whining, and the call cut off.

* * *

Tim held his bo staff in a firm grip as he slinked – as he _limped_ , his ankle was starting to become exceedingly painful – through the dark halls of the abandoned building. Batman’s tracker had moved four times by the time Tim had reached Crime Alley, darting between building to building like he was searching for something.

Or someone.

Tim swallowed as he edged around the corner, using the staff more as a crutch than a weapon. He needed to make sure that Batman was safe. He’d lost two parents already and Jason was – if it was even really Jason – and he was _not_ losing Bruce too.

If he lost him, then Robin truly was cursed. Tim snarled and hobbled faster.

A dark shadow detached itself from the wall and Tim spun on it, halting mid-strike when he registered the pointed ears.

“Robin?” Batman asked slowly, “I thought you were at Titans Tower.”

“Jason’s the Red Hood,” Tim blurted out.

Batman stared at him. “Jason?” he asked, “Jason who?”

“Jason Todd.”

Batman was still for a long moment before he stepped forward, palms out. “Robin, did you get hit with anything?” he asked quietly, “Did you stop anywhere between Titans Tower and here?”

“I went to the Cave,” Tim said, “And it’s smashed – the Batcomputer, the _comms_ –”

“Signal jammer,” Batman interrupted.

“No, the array’s been destroyed. I saw him.”

“At the Cave?”

“No, at the Tower,” Tim said, casting a glance at the shadows around them – he could feel a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. “He appeared out of nowhere, but it’s _him_ , Batman, I swear.”

“You saw Jason at the Tower?” Batman asked, “When?”

“Yesterday night,” Tim replied, “I was – he drugged me. I just woke up. He left a note, he said he didn’t want me running to you, he’s _planning_ something!”

Batman’s gloves were on his shoulders, gripping him firmly. “Robin, deep breaths,” he instructed, and Tim fought the vice tightening around his chest to follow the order. His face was burning again, pressure straining behind his eyes, and Tim modulated his breathing until it subsided.

“You need to head back to the Cave,” Batman said, as gentle as his growl ever got, “And then we will figure out what’s going on.”

“I told you what’s going on – I haven’t been hit with toxin or anything –”

“You just said you were drugged.”

“ _Jason_ drugged me!”

“Robin,” Batman said, his voice becoming firmer, “You need to go back to the Cave. We’ll find out what’s going on, I promise.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tim struggled out of Batman’s grasp, unable to hide the pained hiss as he shifted back onto his injured ankle, “And I’m not leaving – he’s planning something –”

“Robin,” Batman said quietly, “Your judgement’s been compromised.”

“I’m not – Jason is –”

“Jason’s dead.”

“I saw him!”

Batman was silent for a long moment. “What did he look like?” he asked finally.

“He looked older. Taller. He had a red helmet. He –”

“And how do you know it was Jason?”

“He – he called me ‘replacement’. He took the photos in the memorial. He didn’t trip a single alarm to enter the Tower. He – he was…”

“So a man in a red helmet broke into Titans Tower, stole some photos, and called you names,” Batman said flatly, and Tim realized he was never going to change his mind.

“That wasn’t – he looked just like Jason – he –”

“Robin,” Batman said softly, “You’re hurt. You’re upset. We’ll go back to the Cave and figure out what this is, okay?”

Tim had _seen_ Jason. He had. It wasn’t because his parents were dead, he wasn’t _seeing things_ , it wasn’t a hallucination or fear toxin or some other drug. It wasn’t. Tim couldn’t find the words to explain it, to make Batman believe, but it was Jason, he knew it.

But he remembered the needle. He _knew_ he’d been drugged. And with a choice between ‘murdered hero coming back from the dead’ and ‘fear toxin’, it was painfully obvious which the likelier option was.

“I saw him,” Tim repeated, his voice small.

Batman’s grip tightened in sympathy, “Let’s head back to the Cave.” And run the tests and figure out what was _wrong_ with Tim’s head, if it wasn’t just a strange combination of grief and sleep deprivation and bad reactions to unknown drugs.

He’d called Dick, and probably frightened him half to death. He had dredged up so many bad memories for Bruce. All for the visage of a long-dead boy that couldn’t have possibly come back to life.

“You’re going to give him a complex, old man.”

Batman froze. Tim twisted out from his grip, staff out, to face the newcomer – hazy streetlight glinted off the red helmet, scattering across the armor and leather jacket.

“Jason,” Tim breathed out. Batman tensed.

“I was expecting the drug to knock you out till morning,” Hood huffed, “You’re not supposed to be here, kid.”

“You said you were planning something,” Tim said, shifting back. Batman had moved to cover him, blocking the hallway as he slowly advanced on the Red Hood.

“And that’s between me and the big man, so why don’t you fly back to your nest.”

“Who are you?” Batman asked, clipped, “And what do you want?”

Hood laughed, harsh and mechanized and entirely unamused. “It’s good to know that you still don’t listen to your Robins, B,” he said, one hand drifting to a holster, “And I want what I’ve always wanted. To make this city a better place.”

The gun went off, sudden and _loud_.

_Body armor_ , Tim thought shakily, Batman’s suit was made of a bulletproof weave. Tim knew that. _Jason_ would know that.

“And I don’t want you standing in my way,” Hood hissed.

“Robin, get to the Batmobile _now_ ,” Batman snapped, before lunging after the Red Hood. Tim paused long enough to send their location to Dick before limp-hobbling after them, gritting his teeth through the spasms of pain.

They’d taken the fight deeper into the building – three more gunshots sounded before it was substituted by the crash of broken wood and a low stream of curses. By the time Tim reached the room they were currently in, he was breathing heavily and colored spots were dancing in his vision.

Batman had reverted to the quick, gracefully brutal movements he’d shown back before Tim took up the mantle – whatever Hood had said or done, it had severely pissed him off. Tim hovered in the doorway, balancing on one leg, trying to figure out how to safely interfere – Hood still had a gun in his hand, Batman hadn’t even noticed he was standing there, and both of them were trading vicious blows.

Hood stumbled after a punch, and a kick sent him flying back – Tim barely had the time to dive out of the doorway, just missing Hood as he landed in the hallway. Both Hood and Batman stared at him.

“Get to the Batmobile, Robin. _Now_.”

“Still hasn’t learned that Robins never do as they’re told,” Hood muttered under his breath, straightening up and heading for the roof, somehow managing to keep ahead of the dark, furious shadow following him.

Tim swore and dragged himself up the stairs, leaning heavily on the staff as he forced one foot in front of the other. He stumbled out onto the roof, his knees wavering, and managed to straighten before he collapsed into a pile of limbs.

Hood had his gun up, his movements jerky and losing focus, while Batman’s were growing faster and angrier. They were going to hurt each other, and it was going to break them – Hood was _Jason_ and Batman – and _Bruce_ would never be able to forgive himself for hurting his son, but he didn’t believe Tim and Jason didn’t seem inclined to prove himself and Nightwing still hadn’t shown up.

Tim clenched his jaw, took a deep breath, and threw himself forward, straight into the middle of the fight.

His bad leg twisted underneath him, unable to handle his weight, and Tim was forced to slam his staff down to avoid crumpling, his eyes squeezing shut as he braced himself for the blows he couldn’t block.

Nothing. The roof had gone startlingly silent. Tim warily cracked open his eyes – on one side, Hood had a gun pointed at the ground, frozen in place. On the other, Batman’s fist had almost reached his shoulder, his face pale under the mask.

Nobody was moving. Tim was honestly not sure if either of them were even breathing.

“Stop it,” Tim said quietly, “Stop fighting. Jason –” Batman made a low, wounded noise. “ _Stop_.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, kid,” Hood’s voice was distorted by the mask, but Tim could see his hand trembling on the gun.

“Can’t we just talk it out?” Tim pleaded. He didn’t want to lose more people. Not now. Not when his heart still ached like it had been cut in half and haphazardly stitched back together.

Hood snorted, dark and unamused. “Talk? With _him_? Oh no, kid, B will never have an open conversation with you in his life. Should’ve given you that advice before you chained yourself to him.” Tim flinched at the bitterness in his words. “But, hey, you’ve already got it better than me – your parents are too dead to lead you into a trap just to save their own skin.”

Tim stared at him, unable to even begin untangling the emotions from the meaning of that sentence. Behind him, Batman had gone frighteningly tense. And a footstep scuffed against concrete on the far side of the roof, accompanied by a soft, hushed intake of breath.

“Oh great,” Hood muttered under his breath, “It’s a family reunion.”

All three of them turned to face Nightwing, whose gaze found Tim, skipped over to consider the Red Hood, before landing squarely on Bruce.

“You told me he was _dead_!” Nightwing snarled, stalking towards Bruce, “All these years and you just let me believe that my little brother was gone –”

“He _is_ dead –”

“While you threw him in a Lazarus Pit and –”

“ _What_.” That wasn’t Batman anymore. That was Bruce, stunned and disbelieving and angry and scared.

Tim swallowed. “His eyes are green,” he volunteered quietly.

Hood stumbled back a step under the sudden weight of three stares.

“No,” Batman said quietly, “ _No_. It can’t be.”

“B –”

“I watched him die!” The shout echoed in the air, raw and furious and pained. “I buried him. The Lazarus Pit can heal fatal injuries, but not – not that. The longer a body is a corpse, the less that comes back. There’s always a cost to attempting to raise the dead.”

His words rang with certainty, with the awful knowledge that he’d done those calculations before.

“It’s not possible,” Batman growled, “Whoever you are, whatever you want – I don’t know why you’re using a dead boy’s name, but that trick won’t work on me. I watched him die. I held him in my arms as he gasped out his last breath and I will make you regret ever daring to disturb my son’s peace for your games.”

The gun hit the ground, slipping through nerveless fingers. Gloved hands fumbled at the side of the helmet before the latches clicked and it clattered onto the rooftop. It took three tries for him to find the edge of the domino mask and peel it off and let it flutter down to the ground.

And Jason Todd stood at the edge of the rooftop, his face drawn and pale, his hands shaking, his eyes wide.

Batman made a sharp, pained cry, brushing past Tim with one long stride before he crumpled to his knees. “No,” he repeated, “I watched you die.” His voice broke on the last word, and something in Jason’s face cracked along with it.

“Little Wing?” Nightwing said softly, and Jason had a full-body flinch at the nickname.

“Your son,” Jason said, his voice so low it was barely a whisper, “You said – you called me _your son_.”

Batman was wavering on his knees, his gaze fixed on Jason. Tim tightened his grip on his makeshift crutch.

“So I wasn’t – I wasn’t only your soldier?” Jason was hesitant, his words soft and painful and vulnerable, and Tim knew that if any of them said the wrong thing, it would be over. Nightwing rocked forward on the balls of his feet, pressing his mouth into a thin line. Tim kept silent and still and tried very hard to be invisible.

“No.” Batman reached out a hand. “Jason. You’re my _son_.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then there are hugs and Jason gives Tim a piggyback ride back to the Batmobile.


End file.
